Freaky Friday: Duck Style
by Tag A Cake-Eater
Summary: “Holy banana boats.” The reflection I saw in the mirror was not the reflection I’m used to seeing. I was a guy. I was definitely not Becky Conners.
1. Holy Banana Boats

Disclaimer: I don't own the Mighty Ducks, especially Adam Banks, and I don't own Seventeen Magazine. I do, however, own Becky, Benny, and Melanie.

* * *

"I still don't feel right about shooting on Friday the 13th…" I told my manager while nervously wringing my hands. "I mean, you know how superstitious I am."

Benny nodded and crossed his arms, his gold, mob-like jewelry clinking together. "Yeah, but we can't reschedule it to any other date. It's either take it or leave it." He stood up, slicking his gelled, perfectly styled hair back.

"I'd rather leave it." I muttered as Melanie, my new stylist, pulled a straightener through my long, light brown hair one last time. She swung my chair around to face the photo shoot I was planned to do today. So what if it was for the cover of Seventeen? It still didn't feel right. I sat in the black, cushiony chair for a while, my chin resting in the palm of my hand. My eyes wandered around the room as my brain wandered into another world. I mused back about 10 years ago when I was actually normal. And only my family and friends knew who I was. And I had privacy…

"BECKY!" Benny shouted, apparently for the fourth time. I jerked my head up, looking at my manager's red, angry face.

"Sorry." I got up, glancing down at my custom-made outfit and keeping my temper under control. My mom always told me never to argue with anyone I work with. It's my own fault that I'm famous and nobody should feel my wrath but me. And it's true. The only reason why Becky Conners is a name everyone in the whole nation (and 1.6 million people in Europe, according to record and ticket sales) knows is because **I** wanted to be famous.

The photographer pointed to the mark on the floor and I obediently stood there, waiting for pose instructions. I sighed, just wanting to be safe at home with no ladders, umbrellas, or black cats. _Can't I be an ordinary teenager? If only for one day... just one more day._

Just then, I heard a creaking noise above me. Immediately, I looked up at the ceiling. My eyes shifted around, examining the wooden beams that seemed stable. Then… the next thing I knew, I felt a huge 'thunk' on the back of my head and all I saw was black.

* * *

"Adam. Pay attention. Get out there." Coach Orion patted my back as I shook my head, returning to reality and switching places with Averman. I've never been the type to daydream, really, but lately, I've been floating into a whole 'nother planet Earth. I guess it's because I've been feeling as though nobody notices me anymore. When my hand is raised to answer a question, somebody else gets called on. When I'm open in front of the goal, the puck is passed to someone else. When I try to tell one of the Ducks about my weekend, they get concentrated on something else.

I skated towards center ice, watching Dwayne bounce the puck on his stick. I looked ahead, seeing an open path to the goal.

"Dwayne! Over here!" I yelled, striking my stick on the ice. I watched him throw the puck back down at his feet and shoot at the goal. Saved. Of course. I groaned, skating near him and rolling my eyes. "Dude, I was open. I could have made it in." I explained, trying not to sound as annoyed as I really was. Maybe this whole "Game on Friday the 13th" thing got everyone all shook up.

"Oh. Sorry, Banks." Dwayne semi-frowned, shrugged slightly and skated to the bench.

_God. Can't **someone** notice me? Ever? Just for one day?_ I sighed, taking the face-off and winning the puck easily. I passed it off to Guy and stood in a spot near the board.

Suddenly, I saw a hockey mask coming at me and I was rammed into the boards. _Damn. Daydreaming again… I gotta stop this._

My eyes fluttered open and I was greeted by the uber-bright fluorescent lights of a hospital. I was also greeted by a crowd of people hovering over me.

* * *

"Adam, are you ok? You got checked pretty hard. Gave us all a good scare." Someone with red, curly hair and glasses spoke up and everyone else nodded in agreement. _Adam… checked…? What the hell is going on? My name's definitely NOT Adam._ I thought to myself, sitting up and trying to find the most comfortable position in this godforsaken bed. I looked down at my hands, noticing something oddly strange. _Ok, my hands are not this big and my arms are not this toned. _

"Uh… anyone got a mirror?" I asked, shocked at the sound of my deep, almost soothing voice. Now, I was getting a little scared. A Latino looking guy handed me the mirror, his expression confused. I smiled slightly, trying to ease the awkwardness. Then, I looked in the mirror.

"Holy banana boats." The reflection I saw in the mirror was not the reflection I'm used to seeing. My hair was not long and light brown. It was short and dark brown with a tad bit of gel thrown in there. My eyes were not light brown, matching my hair exactly. They were a piercing blue and rather big. I was a **_guy_**. I was definitely not Becky Conners.

My eyes shifted upwards, noticing everyone around my bed staring at me, concerned. "…What's wrong, Adam?" A guy with darker brown, curly-ish hair asked me.

"Uh…nothing. I just look…tired." I said, chuckling nervously. _Yeah. That's the understatement of the year. I look… I don't even know. I don't even know who I am! Or where I am. I just want my mommy._

_

* * *

_

My face felt cool, like a fan was blowing directly at me from 2 feet away. As my eyes opened, the first thing I noticed was an incredible pain in the back of my head. Then, I noticed a ton of adults crowded around me, one fanning me with a folded up piece of paper. _That explains the breeze._ I thought, sitting up before feeling a rush and lying back down again.

"Oh my goodness. Becky, are you all right?" An Italian, mafia looking guy asked as he pulled off his leather jacket and slipped it under my head.

"Huh? Becky?" I said aloud, utterly perplexed and suddenly realizing that I had no idea who any of these people were. Where were Charlie and Russ and Fulton and Luis and everyone else?

"Wow. You must have hit your head really hard…" The same guy said, placing a bag of ice on my forehead. I looked around more, studying the room I was in. The ceilings were tall and covered by wooden beams, there were cameras and what I assumed was a photo shoot set, and over in the corner was a mirror bordered by bright, circular lights and a small table cluttered with hair products and make-up. _This is definitely not the ice rink… or even my dorm room._

"No, I'm all right." I replied, noticing my voice was higher and softer that it had been for the past several years. Did I go back in time or something? I sat up again, this time successfully, and was pulled slowly to my feet by Mr. Mafia. I was forced to sit down in the nearest chair, which was conveniently located in front of the huge mirror. As I turned around, I came face-to-face with someone I know I've seen before. Then, it all fit. Mr. Mafia called me Becky. There are cameras and make-up and hair products all around… _I'm Becky Conners. I. Am. Becky. Conners._


	2. Just how long

Disclaimer: I still don't own any of the Mighty Ducks… but I still own Becky and Benny and Carmen! Yay…

* * *

After everyone left (and I'm still mad that I couldn't cleverly get everyone to say their name), I stood up and investigated my appearance via the full length mirror attached to the bathroom door. I was really tall and muscular and, after becoming conscious of the fact that I had an ID bracelet on thanks to the doctor, my name was Adam Banks.

I've never been good at solving puzzles, but I'd pieced together that Adam probably played hockey. No wonder his calf muscles were so cut… Anyways, he must have gotten checked into the boards exceedingly rough. Rough enough to be sent to the hospital. Which is actually a good thing – otherwise, I wouldn't have figured out his name.

The fact that I was no longer Becky Conners, famous actress/singer who lives in Hollywood, hadn't really set in. Until I looked out the window. My jaw dropped as I saw at least 3 feet of perfectly perfect white snow on the ground. I checked my ID bracelet again and saw that I was in Minnesota. _Wait… snow? It's March! _I checked the handy dandy information giver once again and it confirmed that I'm not crazy. It was March 13.

My hand immediately flew to my mouth and I started gnawing on my nails. I'd learned to stop doing that – my manicurist always yelled at me for it. But, now, I could go all out, right? I mean, his hands are always covered by gloves.

I sighed deeply, resting one hand on my hip, the other still attached to my teeth. Once again, my jaw dropped. My hand moved over, now placed on my stomach. I pushed down, jumping back with surprise. I still don't really know who this guy is… but he is _ripped_. You know, I could get used to this very easily.

* * *

"Now, Becky, I know that that little accident over there probably confirmed your feelings about this photo shoot… but we have to go on. The photographer's booked the rest of the month and the reporter from Seventeen has to get her article in by Monday. You'll just have to suck it up." Mr. Mafia told me gently, ushering me back to the set.

"Seventeen?" I asked, absolutely horrified. "I have to do an interview for Seventeen?" How was I supposed to know what to say!

Mr. Mafia's hand gripped my thin, hardly toned arm protectively. _God, I wish he'd let go already_. I struggled to get out, wanting to run away from the building and hop the next flight to Minnesota. But, then, he placed me in front of a white screen and camera and left me. _No, no, come back, Mr. Mafia!_ I yelled inside, feeling extremely exposed. I hated having my picture taken. My self-esteem level was crap. And now I have to add being a girl. A famous girl, too!

Suddenly, the flash bulb lit up. I wasn't even ready! I heard the photographer yelling out instructions rapidly.

"Turn to the side. Hands on hips. Left foot forward. Cross your arms. Tilt your head. Come on, I need more pout!" Couldn't I at least get some help? I tried following the instructions, but the only response I got was a rolling of the eyes and a heaving sigh.

After about a half an hour of desperately trying to get one good picture, the photographer left in a huff and Mr. Mafia glared down at me. "Let's hope your interview goes better." He growled as a smartly dressed reporter walked in.

She sat down across from me, a fake smile plastered on her face.

"Good afternoon, Miss Conners." She said, shaking my dainty hand. "I'm Carmen Bradford. May I ask you a few questions? Good. Tell me, what is it that you do in your spare time?"

I lowered my eyebrows, having no clue what Becky Conners did. The only thing I knew about her was that she was in that lame movie that came out this year and her new single was called "Life in Pink".

"Well, I, uh, like to… watch… hockey." I muttered, sticking with the only comfort within my reach. Carmen scribbled it down in her notepad, keeping her tape recorder turned to me.

"Ok and I'm sure every available guy out there wants to know – do you have a boyfriend?" She asked, her smile still obviously fake.

I glanced over at Mr. Mafia, hoping he could give me a hint. Thankfully, he shook his head and I answered confidently. "No, I don't." _Why not? Geez – I'm famous and I'm hot!_

"Wonderful. Do you ever wish that you could go back home to Georgia more often instead of staying here in L.A.?" Carmen's expression turned to one of sympathy, but she somehow managed to stay cheerful.

"Well, of course." I answered, figuring everyone would feel the same way about home. "I love going home when I get the chance and I wish I could go more often. The environment is so much calmer there. Plus, all my friends and family live there." How I answered that so naturally… I'll never know.

After 20 more questions like that, Carmen shook my hand once more and rushed out. I sighed, exhausted already. I looked around and saw Mr. Mafia, head in his hands. "Is something wrong?"

"…Is. Something. Wrong?" He said, lifting his head up slowly. "What the _hell_ kind of answers were those!"

"Uh…" Was all I could get out of my mouth. _Shit…I'm in trouble._

_

* * *

_

I was beyond relieved when the doctor came in and said I could go home that night. But, the only thing was… I didn't know where home was. I panicked for all of five minutes until the guy, whose name I figured out was Charlie, came to get me.

"Hey. I figured you wouldn't want to drive yourself home. You know, just in case." He shoved his hands in his pockets, waiting as I gathered everything together. Who knew hockey bags were so humongous and heavy? Usually, I would have struggled just to lift it up, but now, I hoisted it onto my shoulder and carried it with ease.

I could _really_ get used to this life, I'll tell you that now.

Charlie directed me to his car and drove me back to school – Eden Hall. A nice private school I'd heard about in some magazine. All during the car ride there, Charlie tried to make conversation about a myriad of topics: hockey, school, girls… whatever. I don't know about Mr. Banks, but **I** wasn't much of a talker unless I was being interviewed. So, I kept my chatting to a minimum.

While Charlie's voice murmured in my ear, I couldn't help but glance at myself in the side mirror. To tell you the truth…Adam Banks was not bad. Not bad at all.

Maybe I'll get to meet him one day. But, how awkward and uncomfortable would that be? Actually, now that I think about it… I kind of have to meet him one day. Just then, I started pondering this whole situation. The last thing I remember before waking up as this guy was wishing I could just be normal… Ok. There you go. I made a wish and my wish came true. But how? I mean, wishes don't come true everyday. And why him? Why Adam Banks?

He must have wished to be famous or something. At the same time. I sighed as I walked into a nice, brick dorm building, following Charlie the whole way up. Hopefully, he was Adam's - - er, MY room mate. He opened a cheap-looking wooden door and stepped in. When I stepped in after him, he didn't look at me funny, so I guessed this was my room, too.

I observed it, shifting my eyes around the room. It wasn't too bad. A little small for two people…and definitely too small for MY tastes, but adequate enough. Charlie plopped down on an unmade bed which only left the one in the corner to be mine. I looked at it and my eyes widened. It was made. The sheets were clean. The pillows were perfectly aligned. I looked up to the heavens, thanking God for this miracle. A boy was actually clean.

I set my hockey bag down, opening the door right by my bed. It turned out to be a closet, which also made me happy. Rummaging through the shirts and pants on hangers, I noticed one thing. All polos. All khakis. Ok – I'm a preppy neat-freak who plays hockey. And my name is Adam Banks. And I'm not bad looking…

I ran a hand through my hair absentmindedly and almost jumped back in surprise. I had totally forgotten that I no longer had past-my-shoulder length hair. It was really, amazingly, utterly short. After a few moments of silence, I looked back at my room mate (who wasn't bad looking either…) and found him sleeping soundly.

"Thank God." I said quietly, glad that I could freely investigate the room without him asking any questions. I took out a few polo shirts, frowning. They weren't Ralph Lauren… Who owned polo shirts that weren't Ralph Lauren? I sighed, checking the tag. Ok, it was bad enough that they weren't designer, but they weren't even made of Egyptian cotton. I threw one down on the bed, exasperated.

And just _how_ long was I supposed to be this guy…?

* * *

It had only been a few hours and already my head was hurting as if a cow had stomped on it. How in the world did most girls stand having this much hair on their heads? Don't they realize how much easier it is to have it short? Of course…I _could_ always cut it. I shook my head, smiting my own idea. It's probably best not to tamper with a famous person's looks.

My manager, whose name we have learned is Benny, talked a mile a minute on the limo ride back to Becky's house. I guess it's my house, now. After all, I am Becky. Oy. That still makes me shudder.

The dark Hummer-limo stopped in front of a huge, stone house by the beach. The door was opened and I stepped out, my now-light brown eyes squinting in the sun. _Wow. It's actually warm in March. Something I'd never thought would happen to me. I can't believe that the sun is act- - _I stopped dead in my tracks, gazing up at the huge mansion towering above me.

"Miss Conners, please, move along. We know how you hate to stay in the sun too long." A lady with a black dress and white apron (I presume she's the maid) said hurriedly, pushing me into the monstrosity re-named as a house.

…_Wait, what? She doesn't like to stay in the sun too long? Uhm, ok, then._ I thought as I heard my heels (gack!) clicking underneath the marble floor in the foyer.

"Would you like your carrot juice now, miss?" The maid asked, gesturing towards the kitchen as if she would make it right away.

"Oh, I can get it myself." I told her, smiling warmly. Apparently, this was new to her. Her expression gave off that she was somewhat shocked.

"Yourself, miss?"

"Yes… I'll get it myself. I have two perfectly good legs. And I'm capable of using them."

I headed to the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out a coke. _To heck with the carrot juice._ I thought as I gulped down the sugary liquid. I set it quietly on the counter, remembering the look on the maids face. Becky Conners must be one spoiled brat.

I was about to take another swig of my coke when another lady rushed into the room.

"Darling, why are you drinking coke?" She poured the rest down the sink and handed me a water bottle. "Come on. We're going to be late for your meeting." She turned around, scoffing at my confused appearance. "Your meeting. With the head of Moe's Production Studio? Becky, please, don't give me that look. You're signing your new contract/movie deal today. Let's get a move on."

And just _how_ long was I supposed to be this girl…?

* * *

**Yay! That's the end of Chapter 2. I'm having a lot of fun writing this and please, review!**

**The Dog Ate My Penname: It's weird that the part I didn't see of your review was the part I needed the most! Thanks for sending it to me, though. And thanks for the advice.**

**yeah kool okay bye**

**Sinbin05: Thanks! I like to laugh myself, so I try to write a few lines in each chapter that will hopefully make other people laugh. And you got your wish! Now, it's just the question of when will the _next _chapter be posted?**


	3. Awkwardness

Disclaimer: Me no own Mighty Ducks. Me sad. Me own Becky and everyone that goes with her. Me happy. Me think me is Tarzan… Me dork.

* * *

After 45 minutes of rummaging around for Adam's wallet, I sat on his bed, cradling it in my hands. My guy hands. The hands I still wasn't used to; therefore, I ended up knocking over too many things on the dresser.

I opened it up and saw something I was accustomed to, for once. There were credit cards filling every slot in the fine leather wallet. I slowly took them out, examining them. Most of them were what I had – some I'd never even heard of. I lowered my eyebrows, a little confused. Was this guy loaded or something?

I found his bank card, getting a little excited. The truth was soon to come out. Grabbing his laptop, I set it on my lap and went to the bank's website, typing in his card number. When the page came up, my jaw dropped and my eyes widened.

"Holy… he's THAT rich? He's that rich and he doesn't buy Ralph Lauren!" I said in astonishment, getting ready to wipe drool from my face. Speaking of my face, I felt so carefree and light now that I wasn't wearing a pound of make-up. It was wonderful, to say the least.

Suddenly, I realized something. "**_I'M_** that rich."

"Yeah, you are." I jumped a little, looking beside me to see Charlie rubbing his tired eyes.

"Oh, did I wake you?" I asked, concerned, but not really. When he shook his head, I turned back to the computer, the huge number staring back at me still.

I exited the page and searched around his computer more. I found his e-mail and couldn't resist. Thankfully, his password was saved. There were a few new e-mails – some from friends, one from his dad, and then some hockey newsletters. I opened one and began to read.

Suddenly, I felt a weird feeling… like, a tingling. My eyes widened once again and I bit my lip. _Oh, no. Please, God, no. _I thought to myself, realizing what was going on. _I. Have. To. Pee. _

I just wanted to break down crying right then and there. What was I going to do! I couldn't hold it in… who knows how long I was going to be stuck in this body! But I sure as hell didn't want to even attempt to… well, you know!

I sighed, reading the e-mail but not comprehending any of the words. After a few minutes, I started doing what I always do when I have to pee but can't at the moment. I uncrossed my legs, letting them hang over the side, and I started bouncing.

"Dude… what are you doing?" Charlie asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Uhm… I just have to go to the bathroom." I replied, nonchalantly.

"Well, why don't you go?"

"Because." I stated, using the phrase I used most in my daily life. Usually, I got my way and was left alone. But, now…

"Because, why? Just go!" Charlie said, scoffing.

"Fine, fine." I said, standing up and opening a random door. Definitely wasn't the bathroom. I opened another door, which was, and rushed in. "Oh my gosh. What do I do?" I whispered, panicking. Then, I couldn't take it anymore.

I closed my eyes. And I did my business, whimpering in the process.

When all was said and done, I squirted a ton of hand sanitizer on and went outside, greeted by a disturbed expression on Charlie's face.

"What?"

* * *

I sat in the backseat of Becky's huge SUV, shifting around in the leather seat.

"Honey… what's wrong? You seem uncomfortable." My new mom commented, sitting next to me.

"Nothing, mom. I just have this huge itch in the middle of my back." I said, trying to reach it, but failing miserably.

"Here, let me help." She said, scratching my back with her long, perfectly manicured nails. "Oh, Becky, you silly goose – it's just your bra strap." She said, taking her hand away.

"What?" I asked, before shaking my head and remembering that video they showed us in 5th grade. "Oh, that's right. My…thing." I replied awkwardly, scratching my ear.

I sat still the rest of the ride, but my back still itched horribly. God, being a girl – especially this girl - sucked to the max. First of all, there was so much hair that it kind of hurt. Second, WHO WORE THIS MUCH MAKE-UP! I've seen some girls put it on in class, but it's not _this_ much. And last… this bra will be the death of me.

When the car stopped, my door was opened and I stepped outside, my sunglass covering at least half of my face. Paparazzi sunglasses. Got it.

After being rushed into a moderately large, stone building, I was ushered into a huge conference room where everyone who was already in there, stood up and greeted me like I was some huge celebrity. Oh, wait…

Anyways, after too many minutes of shaking hands and smiling uncomfortably, I sat down at the head of the table. A man who just looked like a big shot thrust a stack of papers in front of me, a nice ball point pen resting on top.

I didn't have to be famous to know what to do – of course, I was supposed to sign it. But, being who I really am, Adam Banks, that is, I decided that I should read through it first. I mean, Becky Conners would probably do that, right? I'd assume that she's not that stupid.

I flipped through the pages, skimming through each paragraph. During the middle of the 3rd page, I heard someone next to me clearing their throat.

"Anything wrong, Ms. Conners?" Mr. Big Shot asked, his hands neatly folded in front of him.

"No. Just reading through it." I sat there for about 5 more minutes, just scanning on through. I finally decided it was worthy of signing and autographed the dotted line – thankfully, I wrote "Becky Conners" instead of "Adam Banks". Maybe I was getting used to it by now.

When I was back out in the huge car, my mom looked at me as if I'd grown another head. "What's wrong?" I asked, furrowing my brow.

"…What happened in there? Why did you take so long to sign it?" She inquired, looking genuinely confused and befuddled.

"I just wanted to make sure I knew what I was signing." I explained, noting to myself that I was signing it FOR Becky. Not as her. Ok, maybe people in Hollywood weren't as wise as I thought. That's very sad, actually.

We arrived back at the house (which I was still getting used to the size of) and my mom enlightened that I had a semi-free afternoon. I only had to make a small appearance at some new café down the street and that was it.

I ran upstairs, searching for a computer. At the end of a long hallway, I saw a big, oak door with a sign on it. Actually, it wasn't a sign. It was perfectly cut wooden letters spelling out "Becky". And they were pink. I sighed, opening the door. But, I didn't too much further.

I was officially standing in the biggest, most expensive, most spoiled room ever. Not only did she have three couches, but a ceiling-to-floor fireplace, real oak floors, a TV that basically took up one wall, and the plushest bed I'd ever seen.

Walking around in awe, I took everything in. The floors and bookshelves were spotless with not a speck of dust in sight. _She's either a neat freak or has a really efficient maid…which kind of makes me jealous. I wish Charlie and I had a maid._ I shook my head and began to look for a computer. Then, I spotted a folded up hot pink iBook sitting neatly on an oak desk.

Rushing over, I opened it up and turned it on in a flash. I had to book me a flight to Minnesota and fast.

* * *

**Yay! I'm so glad that I updated even though spring break is over. Cross your fingers and hope that I don't get too swamped with work. crosses fingers**

**My Dog Ate My Penname: Thanks for your review/constructive criticism! It really did help me! yeah kool okay bye**

**Hotashell99: Thanks so much! I'm glad to hear that you like it **

**Sinbin05: No… I've never transformed into another person before, but I'd love to! Thanks for the compliments!**

**Eldrid: Yes, some very disgusting thoughts, as you can see… Hope you liked it!**

**Queen of the Cake-Eaters: Thanks! Keep reviewing, por favor? **


	4. Leavin' on a Jet Plane

Disclaimer: Ok, I promise – no more dorky-ness. Anyways, I don't own Mighty Ducks or any of the characters associated with it. I do, however, own Becky and her whole entourage.

* * *

My eyes shot open and I immediately slapped the "snooze" button on the blaring alarm clock next to my bed. I pulled the striped sheets over my head, not even glancing at the time. I heard rustling coming from Charlie's bed and figured he was getting up now. Lowering the sheets a little, I peeked through and saw that it was 7 AM. Ok, not even I got up that early. Only when I'm on the set, but that's after about half an hour of complaining. And I get multiple nap breaks in-between.

I sat up a little, watching Charlie in confusion. Why was he up this early? And getting dressed? He looked over, obviously seeing my expression and wondering why I was still in bed.

"What are you looking at? Aren't you going to get up?"

I scoffed, lying back down on the surprisingly comfy bed. I was the kind of person who could sleep anywhere. "Why? I'm not getting up this early. Please." I muttered, my voice sounding tired.

"Uh, because we have classes today. Banks, it's Monday." Charlie stated in that "duh-what-are-you-thinking?" tone. "The weekend only lasts two days."

I sat up again, ruffling my unkempt hair around. "Oh. Right." I slowly got up, went to the closet and pondered today's outfit.

_The yellow polo with the jeans or the pink… wait. He has pink. HE HAS A PINK POLO SHIRT. Ok, this guy is definitely, like, my dream guy. Anyways, the pink with the jeans, definitely._

I sighed in wonderment, going over all my options one more time before retrieving the pink shirt and some stone-washed denim jeans. I turned around, my clothes flung over my broad shoulders and came face-to-face with Charlie. "What?"

"Dude… why did you just spend 10 minutes figuring out what to wear? Something's different about you." He shook his head, grabbed his backpack and walked out, leaving me alone.

I simply shrugged and changed, giving myself a once over in the mirror before getting my backpack (how did I know it was my backpack? It had "Adam Banks" embroidered on it. Of course.) and walking out the door.

I didn't get too far before I realized that I had no idea what classes I had. I searched in my pockets and in my backpack for something - anything. I pulled out a small agenda book, flipping through it. I saw the numbers "216" and "23-4-16" written on the front page.

_I may be famous, but I'm not stupid. Most of the time. This is a locker combination._ I sighed with relief and headed out of the dorm building, following a crowd of people into another building. I searched around and eventually found locker 216. I held my breath as I set in the combination.

I closed my eyes and pulled the handle. It opened. My eyes opened back up and a smirk took over my face. _I'm good. I'm really good._ I rummaged through the locker examining all his books. _Chemistry, Algebra, World History, Law…Gosh, this guy is a nerd._ I chuckled to myself, spotting some binders on the shelf above.

I seriously almost cheered out loud. On the spine of each binder was the name of the class it was designated for and the period he had it. I took out the 1st period binder, Law, and held it loosely in my hands. I was ready and rarin' to go.

I started strutting down the hall, searching for Mr. Bookly's class, the name that was typed on the front of the Law binder. I passed a few people I had met Friday in the hospital (and hung out with basically every waking moment of this weekend) and greeted them with a hand slap or a nod of my head. You know, for being a girl for 16 years… I was pretty good at this guy thing.

Then, I turned the corner and was practically tackled from the side. "What the…?" I asked, extremely startled. I turned around, staring into the green eyes of some girl.

"Hey, sweetie, I heard what happened! Are you okay? I wanted to come over last night and check on you but you were asleep already, and I was busy all weekend." The girl frowned, kissing my cheek.

"Uh… I don't really know what happened. But, I'm all right now." I answered hesitantly. _Great… I find my dream guy – wait, scratch that. I AM my dream guy – and he has a girlfriend. _I looked her over, investigating her appearance. She had blonde hair down to the middle of her back, soft, green eyes, fair skin, and was kind of short. _And she's ugly._ I thought bitterly, knowing she wasn't ugly at all. But I was still prettier than her.

"Walk me to class?" She asked, turning around. I glanced at her purse and what do you know? She had her name stitched on there: "Laci." I grimaced, almost wanting to vomit. My respect had definitely lowered for this guy.

"Uh, actually, I have to meet Charlie. See ya later." I turned around, walking quickly away from her. And I didn't even turn around to see what I know would be her disgusted face.

I took out his planner and a pen and started scribbling.

_Note to Self: Be single again – and SOON._

_

* * *

_

I furiously packed my bags, grabbing the first things I saw in Becky's mile-long closet and shoving them in a Louis Vuitton suitcase. A soft knock came from my door and a maid walked in, a tall glass of water resting on a silver platter.

"Your water, miss." She said, curtsying while still balancing the tray. She looked back up, furrowing her brow. "Uhm, pardon me miss, but why are you packing your bags?"

"I have to go to Minnesota. Now." I said, zipping up the suitcase and taking a sip of the water. "I can't tell you why, but I need to." I hugged her, which was obviously something new because she jerked back in surprise.

I carried the suitcase down the stairs, almost disgusted at how heavy it was… it wasn't heavy because of the quantity of clothes, but of the weakness of Becky's arms.

I almost got to the door, but was stopped by the shrill voice of my mom.

"Becky, darling, where are you going? Why are you packed?"

I turned around slowly, wringing my hands together. "I have to go to Minnesota. Please, don't ask why. I can't tell you. But I have to go." I smiled sheepishly and rushed out of the house, my already called for driver waiting to take my bag.

I politely asked for my ticket at the counter and headed over to the scanners and whatnot, setting my bag on the conveyor belt.

About 45 minutes later, I was sitting on a small jet with only three other passengers. My seat belt was buckled and secure and I was ready, six empty bags of peanuts sprawled out on my tray.

The engine started and the plane took off, nothing but the beautiful, blue sky ahead of us. I smiled, setting some headphones on to watch the in-flight movie.

_Don't worry, Adam. Soon, you'll be back home and out of this snobby, spoiled, richer-than-me girl's body._

At least, that was what I thought…

* * *

**Woo and hoo! I know it's a little short (for me, at least) but it's the best I can do under these hectic conditions. Only 5 more weeks of school left for me and, trust me, updates will be coming left and right. Anyways, hope you enjoyed it!**

**Rubix the Cube: I see, I see. You only review when you're bored. Now I know where I stand in your life… Anyways, Uhm, I think I had way too much when I wrote those parts. I was laughing just a little too hard and little too loud. But I'm glad you were amused by them! Love ya!**

**Banks'-gurl-99: Thanks! I'll try and keep up the great work if you try and keep up the great… reading? Uhm, yeah.**

**Sinbin05: winces just thinking about calculus Thankfully, we get to choose between calculus and statistics our senior year at my school… but I'm glad my update was a refreshing break from your hell – I mean, homework. Yes, Adam is smart. And Becky does act dumb… I hope she gets better. I really have no idea how she's going to turn out… **


	5. Here we are Face to Face

Disclaimer: You know, I've tried and tried to persuade Disney to let me own Mighty Ducks… but they're not budging. So, as of now, I don't own them. Nor do I own the companies of Seventeen Magazine and Dooney & Burke. I only own Becky and the spoiled brat that she is.

* * *

You know those really long days? The ones that never seem to end? And whenever you look at the clock and you think at least 20 minutes has passed, it's only 5 minutes later from when you last looked? That's definitely the kind of day I'm having.

Here I am, sitting in the last period of the day – which happens to be Spanish, which I happen to suck at… who learns Spanish anymore? French, mes amis, is way more useful. Especially when you go to Paris for fashion week every year.

ANYWAYS, when the bell finally rings (after about 50 or so hours of school), I have no problem offending the teacher by sighing with relief and scuttling my butt (which, I've noticed throughout the day, to be rather…well-rounded) out of the classroom and back to my dorm. I must admit, though, school wasn't all that bad. Albeit, there were too many classes and they were much too long… I didn't mind learning new stuff like that. It was quite interesting, in fact.

…Okay. Some sort of permanent transformation must be going on. Because, would Becky Conners _really_ say that? Yeah. Didn't think so.

After jogging up the stairs in my dorm building, not only am I surprised to see I'm not out of breath, but I'm surprised that I actually remember which room is mine! I sling my book bag over the computer chair and sit down, turning on the slightly old-ish computer. It's not my iBook or anything, but it'll do for now. Excitedly, I go to Seventeen dot comand wait for hours for the page to load.

Yay! My spread is up! My cover picture! My…horrendous, unprofessional, ugly, amateur, did-I-mention-HORRENDOUS picture! What happened? I ask myself, gulping and absentmindedly biting my nails.

Waaaaaaait just one minute. **_I_** didn't even do this shoot. It was Adam. Must have been. Who else could look this bad? I mean, he is a hockey player after all. They have absolutely no poise nor stature. It's disgusting.

Just then, a cell phone starts ringing. I look around cautiously, trying to identify its location. I search in a pocket of a pair of dirty jeans and come out successful. I hesitantly answer it, but try to sound cool at the same time (when really, I'm laughing on the inside because of how huge this nasty flip phone is. Hello? Who DOESN'T have a Razr?)

"…Hello?" I ask it, sitting at the edge of my bed. Not at all am I surprised when an annoying, high-pitched voice spurts out immediately.

"ADAM! What's up with you? You didn't talk to me at all today! You didn't even sit with me at lunch! You know… you're acting different lately. I don't want to do this to you, but I think we should break up. Sorry."

The biggest smile ever comes over my face. Can you believe this luck? SHE is breaking up with ME… or HIM. Or whoever!

"Oh, that's okay. There was kind of this other girl anyways. Bye." I say in one breath before slamming the phone shut and throwing it by my pillow.

I wasn't lying, per se, just… improving the truth. There was kind of another girl.

Me. Or Adam. Or whoever!

* * *

My hands are nervously shaking the entire 1.5 hour ride to Eden Hall, my school, my home, my comfort zone. But, once I get there, what am I going to do? Go to the front office and ask for Adam Banks?

Well, actually…

"Uhm, hi. May I please see one of your students? His name is Adam Banks." I say quietly to Miss Perkins, the school secretary. "It's kind of urgent."

Miss Perkins gives me the weirdest, most awkward look possible before picking up a nearby phone and dialing three numbers – 223 – yes! My dorm room!

I sigh happily and step back, looking around the office. I jump back a little when I notice a mini-swarm of people peeking in through the windows. One of them being Connie. I almost smiled and waved to her, but I'm actually getting used to the fact that I am not Adam Banks.

Wait, Connie knows who Becky Conners is and is actually excited to see her? Oh my lord, she better not own her movies or CDs. Intervention time might be drawing near…

"Miss Conners?" I hear before immediately turning around. "Mr. Banks is on his way." Miss Perkins explains, the phone still held to her ear.

"No, that's okay. I'll go to him." I say, smiling, and rushing out before she can ask any questions.

* * *

'Hmmm… that's funny.' I ponder to myself, hanging up the phone and gazing out the foggy, frost covered window onto the still perfectly perfect snow-covered courtyard. 'Who would want to see Adam Banks?' I shrug and turn away, plopping back down on my bed.

Just then, a small knock reverberates through my room and I stand up, striding over to open it. And once I do, I kind of wish that I never had.

"It's YOU! Or…ME!" I gasp, my voice not going near as high as I want it to. You know, for that surprised effect?

"And it's ME! Or…YOU!" Becky/Adam squeaks back. Now that's more like it. You have to get it up real nice and high.

"Okay, wait." I say, holding up my rough, unmoisturized hand. "I will be Adam. You will be Becky." I say firstly. "Just so no one else gets confused. Okay. Proceed. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?"

"Uh, I've come to get my body back!" Becky replies, putting her nice manicured hands on her hips. "What am I wearing? It looks like you spent 10 minutes OR MORE picking that out!"

I whistle and rock back and forth on my feet, twiddling my thumbs behind my back. "Now, is that really what matters right now? What matters is how did we get this way?" I asked, smoothly changing the subject. Besides, I didn't even mention what he dressed ME in. Those UGGs are definitely LAST winter.

"Beats me… the last thing I remember is from practice on Friday. I was complaining to Dwayne about not noticing that I was open and could have easily scored… then I wished someone would notice for at least one day… then I got checked. Pretty badly." Becky walked inside, throwing the, must I say expensive, Dooney & Burke purse onto the bed. "Then I woke up with Mr. Mafia and bunch of other people hovering over me. And I was you."

"Awh, Benny. How I miss him." I sigh nostalgically, gazing out the window once more. "Anyways, here's what I remember. I was doing a photo shoot for Seventeen – we'll talk about that LATER Mr. I-can-never-ever-make-it-as-a-model – and I didn't want to because it was Friday the 13th and I'm superstitious. Then, Benny - did I mention how much I miss him - was getting mad at me and I wanted to be normal for just one day. Then I got hit in the head with a wooden beam and I woke up as you. With all these smelly hockey players hovering over me."

"So, are you saying that this was, like, magic or something? Like that movie with Lindsay Lohan?" Becky asked, looking just a tad skeptical.

"Lindsay! I haven't talked to her in ages. I wonder whatever happened to that…" I ask myself, but stop because of the annoyed look on Becky's face. "Yeah. Sorry. I guess that's it? There's really no other explanation for it."

"So… what now?"

"Heck if I know. I didn't find any piece of paper with a strange incantation on it that I thought might be useful later in life." I shrugged, stuffing my hands in my pockets all boy-like. "But, can I tell you something without you getting offended?"

Becky shrugged her blue, cap-sleeved clad shoulders lightly.

"You, as in me, as in Adam Banks… is pretty hot. Just thought I'd put it out there."

"Uh… thanks." Becky replied, trying to hide her blushing cheeks. Then, a light bulb turned on above her head and she looked up at me. "LACI!"

"Don't worry. It's taken care of. She broke up with me…you…us this afternoon. So, Laci and Adam Banks? Splitsville. Dunzo." I answered, smirking rather smugly.

Becky's face turned immensely angry and sad, but after a while, it calmed down and turned into a nice, bright, happy expression.

"Actually, that helps me out a lot. I was planning on breaking up soon." She shrugged and sat down on the bed, smoothing the covers down.

Then, breaking the awkward silence, coming to save the day, Charlie burst in all hot and out of breath. "ADAM! HAVE YOU HEARD! BECKY CONNERS IS HERE!" He said, glancing at the picture of her on his desk.

"…And definitely in this room." I reply, eyeing myself sitting on the bed.

Charlie's eyes did this weird little ditty where they kind of rolled back into his head. Then he hit the ground.

* * *

**Yeah, I doubt anyone will be reading this. But, I got a request from pipsqweek91 to update after about 6 months. So, here I am! Updating! Woot woot.**

**Anyways, glad you liked it pipsqweek. May I call you Pippi? Glad you liked it Pippi. This update is especially for you. And I hope it doesn't disappoint you!**


	6. The Contest, of course!

Disclaimer: Fun fact – instead of studying for my final exams, I wrote 10,000 letters to Disney begging them to let me own Mighty Ducks. And guess what? Still no luck. I'm just as bereft of Mighty Ducks ownage as before. AND I failed all of my exams. Oh, yeah. I don't own Pamela Anderson, either. But, I'm sure she doesn't _really_ own a lot of herself anyways. Gasp! I don't own Chanel, Seven For All Mankind, nor Michael Kors. Though, I do wish I owned a pair of Michael Kors shoes… And, last but not least, I don't own "Reno 911!". I DO own Becky, though.

* * *

"Uhm… Charlie? Are you okay?" I ask, kneeling down beside him and poking his arm. I look up at Becky and shrug. "Did you know he was crazy about…Becky?" I ask, not knowing whether to say 'me' or 'you'. It's all so confusing.

"No! We don't really talk about that kind of stuff. I mean, sometimes we talk about girls at school. But, really? We talk about hockey and sports most of the time. Not Pamela Anderson like most of you girls think." She answers back in a very bitter, refuting tone.

I scoff and roll my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest. "I'll have you know that Pam Anderson does a lot of good for the community. She really cares about animals and stuff!" I answer in poor Pam's defense. Shaking my head slightly, I look down at Charlie again who seems to be waking from his state of shock. "Hey, dude. Are you all right?"

Charlie sits up a little, resting on his elbows. "Maybe? Did I really see Becky Conners in this room?" He asks me, his voice quiet and low. I look at the object of Charlie's desire – me – obviously. Charlie follows my gaze and his mouth drops a little. "Oh, God. I did. She's here." He lies back down and closes his eyes. "I'm… not here."

Becky laughs a little and stands up. "Oh, come on. You're embarrassing me, Charlie!" She says, her cheeks flushing a little.

Charlie shoots up, his eyes wide. "You know my name? How the hell do you know my name? Adam, did you tell her…" He said, his voice fading at the last bit. "Wait just one flipping second. Why is she in here? Do you KNOW her? ARE YOU DATING HER? HOW?" Charlie asks, standing up and getting in my face.

"NO! We're not dating! Please. Why would I date her? Just because she's really hot and nice and famous… no way. Not dating. I just, uh, submitted your name in a contest. To meet her. And spend the day with her! And you won! So… here she is! Just for you!" I say, grabbing Becky's shoulders and presenting her to him.

Becky looks – no, she scowls - back at me over her shoulder. Probably for what I just dragged her into AND for calling her hot and nice. But, hey. I'm really talking about myself! Why _wouldn't _I call myself hot and nice? I mean, it's not like I was lying, anyways.

Charlie stares at Becky, not really knowing what to do with her. He glances at me for a bit, but then goes back to her.

Becky finally steps it up and hugs Charlie, less awkwardly than I would have guessed. "Congratulations, Charlie! I'm so… excited! Can't wait to spend the day with you. Tomorrow. Right now, I have to go back and prepare myself. Practice acting and stuff. Yeah. So. Bye!" Becky turns around, grabs her purse from the bed, and conspicuously knocks into me for revenge on her way to the door. Geez. What a drama queen.

* * *

I **STORM** out of my dorm building and back to where my limo is. What the heck? What just happened? Did Adam really make up this ridiculous story and now do I really have to spend a day with Charlie, whom I already spend literally the whole school year with? And I just KNOW he's going to be all ga-ga over me. Because I'm not Adam, but Becky Conners. This just sucks. Quite majorly.

When I get back to my nice, luxurious hotel room, I decide that sulking the whole car ride home really does help. I wish I was a celebrity all the time so it would be excusable. But, then, not really. I know I wished to be noticed by someone, but all this? Being swarmed by paparazzi in MINNESOTA and hearing gasps as I walk around at Eden Hall? It's not what I expected.

I trudge around my room getting ready for bed and putting on my nice silk pajamas and lying down in my huge bed with nice Egyptian cotton sheets – I only know that term because my mom asks for some every Christmas and birthday – and watching a little hockey on my hi-def tee-vee.

It's not until I get up the next morning that I remember what I have to do today. Seriously, what are we going to even do? Eat? And then what? I whine a little as I get out of bed and head to the closet with all my clothes. But, before I can get there, my phone rings.

"Crikey, it better not be another publicist." I mutter before picking up the phone and answering sweetly.

"You haven't gotten dressed yet, have you?" asks a very eager Adam on the other line.

"No…"

"GOOD! Because, today, I am picking your outfit out for you. Now, let's see. Did you bring the nice black Chanel coat with the satin trim and the little bow?" I search the closet and find a black coat. After looking at the label and this 'satin trim' he speaks of, I take it out and lay it on the bed.

"Okay, what else?" I ask, kind of excited. I'm going to look like a celebrity today! Wearing real celebrity clothes picked out by a real life celebrity.

"Uhm, just wear a white t-shirt under that. And what about the Seven jeans? Tell me you brought the Seven jeans!" I sigh and look at the jeans I shoved into my suitcase.

"I think they're all Seven jeans." I reply, taking a pair out and lying them next to the jacket.

"Good. So, Chanel coat, Seven jeans… oh! What about the black Michael Kors pumps? You brought those, right? Those would go perfectly with that outfit. So cute!"

I rummage through the oh so copious amount of shoes I brought and find these Michael Kors high heels. "Is that all?" I ask, sitting down beside my outfit and looking over it again.

"Yeah, I guess. Just wear a cute black hat and scarf and you'll be fine." Adam says before sighing a little. "Well, I guess I'll see you soon. When you come to pick up Charlie. Bye."

I hang up the phone and give my silk pajamas a last good feel before getting dressed and driven to Eden Hall.

* * *

I almost feel like laughing as I watch Charlie pace around our dorm room in MY polo shirt and khakis and nice Banana Republic jacket. You know, I really do like Adam Banks more and more each day. Banana Republic is not bad.

"Charlie. Don't be so nervous. Becky's just a normal teenager. From what I gathered when we met briefly yesterday." I assure him, sitting at my computer desk. "Trust me. She's more normal than you think." I add quietly, wondering if he'll notice any of Adam's personality quirks today.

Then, there's a knock on our door and Charlie practically faints again. I shake my head and let Becky in, winking at her as she waltzes in looking extra cute if I do say so myself.

Charlie weakly sticks out his elbow, regaining his strength after a few moments. "Shall we go, then?" He asks, gulping a little. Becky nods, looking at me almost angrily, and places her hand on Charlie's outstretched arm.

I smile at the cute couple as they walk out. "You two kids have fun now!" I yell down the hall and laugh to myself. I'm surprised I didn't get another scowl from Becky.

**Author's Note: Now, just because I love my reviewers… I'm going to write basically two chapters in one! Normally, I would have separated what you just read and what you are about to read, but since it's the Holidays and I haven't updated too much, I'll let you read extra! Yay!**

Charlie decides he wants to take me to Mickey's, a diner that his mom works at. Which is a really cute notion. But, I've been there before. Many, many times. I just have to remember that Becky hasn't. And I'll pretend to look at the menu even, like I don't know what they have there.

After a little small talk and making up facts about Becky's past, I order a grilled cheese sandwich and some chocolate milk.

"Hey, that's funny. That's exactly what Adam orders. You know, Adam, my roommate?" Charlie says as he places our order and folds his hands on the table like he's about to make a serious proposition.

"Oh, yeah. That charming boy I met yesterday. Such a nice guy." I answer, trying not to make it sound too egotistical.

"Yeah, he's great." Charlie answers somewhat nonchalant. Have we known each other too long to where he thinks I'm just a plain old guy? And not the greatest friend he's ever had?

"Really? Even from the short moment I talked with him, he gave me a good vibe. The way he's loyal to the people he knows, he cares about his friends and family and stuff, and even the way he's so materialistic… it's cute." I say, kind of in a stupor where you don't know what you're saying.

"Uhm, okay. You got all that from, like, 5 minutes? And Adam isn't materialistic…" Charlie says, sounding obviously very annoyed.

"Oh. Sorry. I must be thinking of someone else." I say quickly. Oh my god. I wasn't describing myself. I was describing Becky. Whaaaaaa? No. That can't be. Why would I think of her even? She's so annoying.

I shake my head of these thoughts just as our food is being served to us. I eat and engage in a little more small talk with Charlie. Afterwards, we walk around the small town and look in little boutiques. We even go ice skating and make a small snowman. At the end of the day, I must say it was very fun. I haven't spent the day with Charlie in about 6 or 7 years.

When we get back to the dorm, Charlie thankfully doesn't try to kiss me but invites me inside. I go in with intent to be around my actual stuff – my bed, my computer, my clothes… everything. When I step in, I see Adam at the computer, looking up designer clothes. Of course.

"Oh, hey! How'd it go?" He asks with a huge smile on his face.

Charlie smiles back, touching my back lightly. "I had fun. What about you, Becky?"

I nod my head slowly, joining in on the smile party. "Yeah. It was great." I answer generically. Then, a great idea hits me. I'm not sure if I should put this out there, but… deep down, I kind of want to. "Oh, you know what? I just remembered! The contest also consisted of the winner picking a friend and having them spend the day with me, too." I say, pretending to sigh and be annoyed with myself for forgetting such an important attribute of the contest.

"Oh, really?" Charlie asks, a little suspicious. But, hey, whatever comes out of my mouth is law. So he follows. "Well, then, I'll just pick Adam."

Adam looks at me, furrowing his brow. "What? That was part of the contest?" He asks. "Oh… yeah. I totally forgot about that. Uhm, sure. Thanks, Charlie." He nods like boys do and sits back down.

Charlie pulls out his computer chair for me and excuses himself for a few minutes. Right as he leaves, Adam swirls around to look at me.

"What was that? Why'd you just randomly add another part of the contest? You knew Charlie would pick me! Duh! I'm his best friend. Surely, YOU would know that." He says, laughing at my stupidity.

"I dunno. I thought it'd be a good idea. Because we're stuck in each others bodies and we haven't really gotten a chance to know each other. Right?" I say, praying that he'll agree with me. I'm not really sure what my agenda was with that little bit, but we'll see, eh?

"Yeah, that's true. All I know about you is that you're rich, you play hockey, and you had the good-looking gene in your family passed down to you." He answers, making my cheeks flush again. "Maybe spending a day with you wouldn't be too bad." He shrugs and goes back to browsing. "Hey, do you mind if I buy you a new cell phone? I just feel like I'm stuck in the 80's when I use your huge flip phone."

"Sure…" I answer, wondering what's really wrong with my phone, anyway? It's just a phone… But, then, I figure she's thinking about ME. And not herself. Maybe there's a shred of good in her, yet.

* * *

That evening, I lay in bed watching tee-vee – the screen looks so fuzzy and blocky… I'm so not used to anything other than hi-def. I laugh at something Deputy Williams says on "Reno 911!" right before Charlie speaks up.

"Hey… since when do you watch anything other than hockey?" He asks, peeking his head around the tee-vee.

I hit the mute button and shrug, looking at him. "I dunno. There aren't any good games on tonight." I answer, glancing at the show.

Charlie chuckles and goes back to his computer. "Whatever."

"I'm going to bed." I mutter before turning off the tee-vee and pulling the covers over my head. For some reason, I'm nervous about tomorrow. What is Adam REALLY like? What if he's a person that I just absolutely cannot stand? Or, worse, what if I like him? Like, seriously like him? Oy. That would not be good. I close my eyes tightly and force myself to think sleepy thoughts.

* * *

I lie in bed, unbeknownst that Adam is doing the exact same thing, thinking about tomorrow. In a way, I regret making up the other part to the contest. What if I spend a whole day with a famous celebrity in my body and she turns out to be a complete and utter diva? But, what if it goes the other way? What if she's really nice and good-natured and warm-hearted? Then, I might actually like her. And that won't be good. Right?

I turn off my bedside lamp after eating the chocolate mint that was left on my pillow and gradually drift off to sleep. I will worry about tomorrow when it comes.

* * *

**Thanks to all my reviewers. I absolutely LOVE you for reviewing in the first place. But, you responded so quickly! And I'm truly sorry it's taken me this long. But, I'm on winter break now. So, after Sunday, I'll definitely have a lot of time. And, also, I've decided to let you in on the decision making. Is there anything you want to happen in the story? Any particular quotes you want me to incorporate in here? Storylines and plots? Anything! Just email me at polkadots16 at comcast dot net and I'll make your ideas happen! Thanks SO much!**


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